Ever since I began writing my book “Small: The Little We Need for Happiness,” I’ve been practicing thinking and seeing small. Once somebody who frequently felt overwhelmed and anxious, easily discouraged and even depressed, by thinking small, I have discovered a whole new world of joy, peace and connection.
In my book, I invite you, the reader, along on my journey, as I learn to shift my perspective away from disappointments that loom large in my psyche, a multitude of commitments, an endless “to-do” list, and scenes of blight and decay that drag me down, to learning to set my sites on one commitment I look forward to, a moment of beauty within the blight and decay, a pinprick of light within disappointment.
Once you learn how to think and see small, and have practiced for a while, whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed or depressed, you can remind yourself to make the shift, and your mood will improve. But it takes practice. In honor of my book’s publication, and to help you practice seeing small, I’m going to post twice-weekly suggestions for how to think or see small in different situations. Follow any of these that apply to you, and I wager you will soon join me as a proponent of small.
Nothing makes me happier than when people tell me their own stories of small. Yesterday, after a book party, a woman approached. “Would you mind if I told you a small story?” she asked. Would I mind? I’d be thrilled! “My name is Mary,” she […]
I’m in good company when I see and think small. Among my fellow small enthusiasts: Stendhal: “A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love.” Aeschylus: “From a small seed, a mighty trunk may grow.” Lao Tzu: “The journey of […]
I’m just back from a week-long writers’ conference on Ambergris Caye, in Belize, where I taught for a week. The morning after I read from my new book, “Small: The Little We Need for Happiness,” two of the writers in my workshop presented me with […]
I picked up a book called “Rewiring the Brain” by Rick Hanson at my acupuncturist’s the other day. My own book “Small” is really about happiness, I thought. “This book might be relevant.” I’m glad I didn’t read this before I wrote “Small. I might […]
When I picked her up from school on Tuesday, my six-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter told me she didn’t feel good. After we arrived home, I touched her forehead. It was warm. “I think you have a fever,” I told her. I offered her a snack and a […]
This morning, the movers hauled away the last of my mother’s furniture remaining in her condo: Several antique end tables, a roll-top desk that had been my grandfather’s when he was a boy, and a highboy my father had always used to store his clothing. […]
It’s easy to grow irritated when bad weather persists. Days of being snowbound or pummeling rain can turn our moods sour. It’s been pouring here for the past few days, torrents of rain causing freeway accidents and delays, and making going anywhere, even just a […]
At a book event last Sunday, one of my neighbors called me over to her table. “I’m going to pay for two books, but I’m not going to take them. Instead, I’d like you to give them to two people who might not be able […]
A grade-school friend I hadn’t been in touch with for decades, learned about my book, ordered it and began reading it. As she read, she emailed me her responses and reactions. Along the way, she told me something about the life she has lived. In […]
We invited several friends for dinner last weekend. My usual mode when we’re having company is panic. There’s so much to do, I think. And what if it the food doesn’t turn out well? I move on from there, to worrying about my dirty living […]
Driving home from celebrating our Pasadena grandson’s first birthday, my husband told me he was feeling anxious. “Why?” I asked. “For so many reasons,” he replied, then rattled off a list of concerns, which included events and situations months in the future. “You’re worried about […]
Researches have proved that messes make people anxious. I couldn't agree more. Put me in a messy room, with dirty dishes littering table tops, discarded apple cores sitting next to chairs, outwear piled on those chairs, and papers scattered here and there, I begin to feel panicky. Now, I've learned how to a void the unease: I find one moment of beauty in the room: an interesting design in the rug, a beautiful ceramic pot, a painting, even a dustball just under the couch, and I focus on that. Within moments, I begin to feel calmer. Try it.
I’m ashamed to say that after my fabulous book launch last Thursday, I started thinking about all the people who didn’t show up. I did this for several days, and began compiling quite a list, before I caught myself. This is old behavior, I told myself. You know how to stop it. And I did. The next time my mind returned to the list, I shifted my focus from all those who hadn’t been there--for whatever reason—to the first face I could remember, sitting in the audience, smiling, sending me silent good wishes. It worked. I’m no longer thinking about who wasn’t there. And now when people ask how the launch went, I’m able to reply, “It was wonderful!”
I had a lot to do today and was feeling overwhelmed. I wanted to spend time with my granddaughters, who live 20 minutes from me, do my workout and my meditation, write a blog post, deposit the bags of clothing that had been sitting in the front hall for a week, at Goodwill—all before going out to dinner with a friend. The more I rushed, the more overwhelmed I felt. I’ll never get all of this done became my mantra. I finally realized what I needed to do: Think Small. I need to stop whatever I was doing, go outside for a short walk, and find a tiny, beautiful thing. I did that, and about half a block from my house, I picked up the most beautiful dried berry, mottled in various shades or red, with a graceful arcing stem. The minute I notice the berry, I felt my body relax and my chest expand. The world is such a beautiful place, I whispered to myself. Then I went back to my house and completed by chores, the image of the dried red berry with the arcing stem in my mind.